


Count of Three, We Run

by Loser_Angel_666



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Confession, Kissing, M/M, No Spoilers, Running, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loser_Angel_666/pseuds/Loser_Angel_666
Summary: They could always keep running away. Away from their feelings.Work leaves no room for love. Caring is dangerous. "You are my weakness, John Watson."Or they could run towards it instead. Throwing themselves into a whole new type of case. Falling rapidly into a hole of their own confusing minds.They can't stop this.They are John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.This was always meant to be.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Count of Three, We Run

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what inspired this but I enjoyed writing it so enjoy
> 
> (I guess it's kind of based off the scene in Season 2 episode 3 with the running but it isn't that scene)
> 
> feedback is appreciated
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING

“Okay, count of three, we run.” Sherlock whispers to John from the corner of his mouth. John gives a curt nod and positions himself at the ready.

The man before them laughs maniacally, pointing the gun right at Sherlock.

“Mr. Holmes.” The murderer says slowly, chin tilted up, hungry grin set on his twisted mouth. 

“What is it you’re after?” Sherlock asks, “How did you do all this?” he has his hands held up, open, in front of him.

“You wanna know don't you? Well how about this?” The murderer whispers, coming closer.

“One.” Sherlock whispers to John.

“I’ll show you.” The murderer continues. Sherlock stops counting, curiosity is infectious, and Sherlock is particularly prone to catching it.

“Will you?”

“But I want something in return.”

“What is it?”

“Your… friend… has something of mine.” The murderer takes his gun from Sherlock's head and points it right at Johns chest instead.

“John?”

“He knows who I am. Who I was.” Sherlock looks to John, confused, John swallows and nods ever so slightly. 

“What do you want from him?” Sherlock asks slowly.

“Well… If he knows who I am… I can’t risk that, can I? Can’t risk anyone else finding out. So I’ll tell you. Everything. About how I did it, if you give me John Watson.”

Sherlock looks to John and is horrified to see him swallow nervously. Johns hand twitches like he wants to reach for his gun, his eyes trained on the murderer. His face is paler than it was before and he looks almost scared. Like he doesn’t doubt that Sherlock would give up John for knowledge.

“You can not have John Watson.” Sherlock says angrily. 

He sneaks a look at John who, although to anyone else, would seem completely unphased by all of this, Sherlock can see a small wave of relief run through him. Johns lips twitch into a smirk and Sherlock’s do too. 

“No?” The murderer gasps, looking back at Sherlock. Sherlock watches John from the corner of his eye as the shorter man reaches into his back pocket discreetly for his phone.

“Two.” Sherlock mouths. Then he speaks to the murderer. “John’s my friend. I need him more than I need to know your techniques.”

“Oh! You’ve… grown attached?” 

“Maybe I have. Maybe that’s not a bad thing!” Sherlock says and John ducks out of the aim of the gun. Sherlock whips out his gun from his coat and shoots the murderer in the leg. 

“Three!” He yells and grabs John’s hand as they both take off around the corner. John had called Lestrade while Sherlock had the murderers attention and the sirens were already getting close.

“This way!” John pulls Sherlock down an alley behind a resturaunt and they duck behind a large dumpster.

“That was exciting,” Sherlock gasps, catching his breath. He’s laughing as he leans against the building behind them. John looks up at Sherlock and he begins to laugh too.

“Yeah, it was.”

“So you know him?” Sherlock finally asks.

“We went to school together. He had a bad childhood, got kicked out of college when he murdered his fiance.” John says dismissively. “Darren Jardsen. That was his name.”

“Huh.” Sherlock nods. Then he considers John for a moment. “You didn’t really think I was gonna let him shoot you right?”

“What? Oh. No, ‘course not.” Sherlock can tell he’s just covering up, but he decides to go along with it anyway.

“Good. I need my favorite blogger.”

“Good. I need my favorite sociopath.”

And then suddenly sirens are wherring past the alleyway and Sherlock turns to John.

“You wanna run?”

“Why? We aren’t being chased anymore.”

“So?” And with that, Sherlock grabs John's hand in his for the second time and pulls him along. They go through buildings and up stairs and across streets until they’re racing down Baker Street. Sherlock gets to 221B first, pulling out his key as John nearly collides with him from behind.

The adrenaline doesn’t slow down and Sherlock shoves the door open and John bounds up the front steps behind him, and through the doors, toppling over the doorway and stumbling a bit before he lands in a laughing, out-of-breath, mess. Right on top of Sherlock.

They’re both giggling and gasping for air as they lie at the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock has his hand in perfect position to reach out for a third time to hold John's hand. His laugh quiets and his smile softens as he considers it. 

But before Sherlock can make a decision John’s hand is around his and Sherlock only finds it natural to wrap the other arm around Johns back.

It should feel weird. To be lying on top of your best friend, wrapped up in each other, holding hands, and gasping for air. Yet somehow, the adrenaline, the exhilaration. It feels completely natural. 

This was John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

This was meant to be.

But they still have time to stand up and brush it off. Just the chemicals. The danger, messing with their minds. John is straight. And Sherlock is married to his work.

But John is a lot of things he says he isn’t. And he’s become one of the most important parts of Sherlocks ‘work’. 

So they don’t brush it off. Instead, Sherlock pushes John off of him and John pulls Sherlock to his feet. A bit too strong and Sherlock falls forward a bit. The tingle of the energy still pumps through both their veins. Sherlock finds himself pressing John against the wall.

It’s chest to chest. His hands are on Johns hips and they’re both breathing ragged. Sherlocks forehead rests hard against Johns. Both their eyes are wide and blown with lust. Johns hand reaches up to clutch at the back of Sherlock's coat and Sherlock laughs disbelievingly.

“You are my weakness, John Watson.” He whispers intensely, then he crashes their lips together.

Just like that, everything they had thought they could hide from each other is lost and the boundaries can not be uncrossed. 

They could have kept running. Kept losing themselves in the addictive life of murder and mystery. They could have found themselves in similar positions, air thin and the excitement from having a gun pointed at your chest or aimed at your skull still racing through their veins. Blood pumping in their ears. 

With the veil thin and their hands nearly touching and their lips looking for more than the empty air in front of them. And they could have kept running away from that.

But they are John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

This is meant to be.


End file.
